Blush
by Artemidora
Summary: River has quite an active imagination. Femslash.


_Dark and dangerous like a secret, it is whispered in a hush_  
_When I wake the things I dreamt about you last night make me blush_  
_And you kiss me like a lover, then you sting me like a viper_  
_I go follow to the river, play your memory like a piper_

* * *

She awakes, sweating. Again. Those sparkling brown eyes dance across her memory as she tries to piece her dream together. It makes her feel raw and lonely, all the more so when she stretches her hands to both ends of her bed to confirm that she is alone in it.

Those warm arms were just an illusion. A trick in her mind. But she can still feel it so clearly, burning orange. She burns.

River lives in her mind, it's true. She knows no other life. Sometimes she lies awake at night, fingers soaked in her juices, pretending someone else is touching her. She whimpers and shudders into someone else's hand. Afterward, her eyes leak as she cuddles up to her pillow, wishing someone would hold her. But no one will. No one ever has. She's too strange, too broken.

Inara, on the other hand, is perfect. Long and sinuous and flawless. Her every pause could be a photograph: she's breathtaking at every angle. She makes River lose all her words, makes her parched tongue search for reprieve. Her angular facial features remind River of a goddess, contrasting so sweetly with her lush curves. She seems to float rather than walk.

River remembers. One time, she floats into the cargo bay. It's empty, except for River, whom she does not see. And except for a couple dozen cows. While no one's looking, she actually goes straight up to one, touches its nose, smooths its forehead. Charms the heifer with her low tones, somewhere between speaking and soft singing. She closes her eyes. From her hiding place, River closes her eyes too and sighs inaudibly. She imagines herself in the cow's place; suddenly Inara's fingers are stroking skin instead of fur. River's lips part; her chest rises and falls. In her mind, she buries her face in Inara's most secret place. It is so thick and sweet that River can barely stand it. She is soft there, and wet and full of promise, and River cannot stop inhaling it. Her tongue tingles as if it's real; her mind's ear hears a sigh somewhere above her, but even Inara's imaginary pleasure cannot pull back River's silent screaming. It plunges into her; her ecstasy leaks all over the floor. She quivers slightly, suddenly aware of the chill.

That awareness brings her back to her own body. When she opens her eyes, the goddess is looking straight at her with a slightly curious expression. River blushes and looks away. Soon enough River is alone again, but she does not forget. How could she forget?

Simply, Inara drips with allure. It's hard to believe that someone this lovely exists in the flesh. Her hair is long and silky, dark like her mystery. River wants badly to entwine her hands in Inara's hair. To watch her unravel. But she doesn't want to pry. Inara's strange beauty invites curiosity, and her body turns heads - but she doesn't want the attention. So River tries not to be bothersome. Inara seems to like her all right, and she doesn't want to screw it up. Doesn't want to be seen as clingy.

But she clings to her sheets at night, moaning into her pillow, whispering her name over and over. She worries that she'll let it slip one day. She'll stare too long, smile too strangely. She tries to catch herself so that no one else does.

She's done a good job so far. Even Simon doesn't know, and he thinks he knows everything about her.

But the threat is always there. Sometimes she drifts off as Inara is talking, watching her lips move instead of listening to the words she's saying. She begins to imagine those cherry lips moving upon hers and all is lost. Her rational mind goes on autopilot, instead repeating like a mantra:_ so beautiful_. And she loses track of everything but the image. She's taking mental photographs for later, to try and keep her in some small way.

She wonders what it must be like to kiss those perfect lips. They look moist and supple and skilled. She imagines kissing her up against a wall, nipping at the Companion's clavicle while Inara runs her nails up her back: she's sure Inara is a scratcher. The vision intoxicates her. Electrifies her so hard she almost feels the pressure on her skin. It's always electric like this in her dreams; Inara's touch makes River's pale, pathetic skin come alive. Inara's warmth is heady. Her breath rips through River's very spirit and transports her to heaven. River sighs in her arms: Inara knows how to please a budding young woman. She leaves no inch of River's body cold, smoothing her caresses over every part of her. Her touch is exactly what River's flesh cries out for. Inara teases her: she has two hands and one mouth and uses them all to dip River's nerves into the brightest of fires.

That's another thing: in her dreams, River is beautiful too.

She knows her fantasy is ridiculous, especially that part: it's perfectly reasonable to lust after someone as lovely as Inara, but there's probably a diagnosis for those who want people like River. River is scrappy and bony and stilted; her youth and inexperience scream out like a billboard. River cackles at inopportune moments. River disappears for hours at a time to go talk to the people inside her head. River's hair is stringy, and she doesn't particularly enjoy washing it. In short: nothing about River is 'desirable' by any stretch.

She knows this well enough. She's been told enough times, by the way people avoid her gaze. Even at dinner, even by the crew. Even Kaylee. Even Inara, whenever she deigns to eat with the rest of them. Last week it was potatoes and canned mystery meat; she had twirled the fork so delicately for such a meal. River caught herself watching Inara's hand swirling, feeling those fingers trace patterns on her arm. She imagined catching the Companion's wrist, demanding more than a tease. Kissing those expert fingers individually. Then Simon's voice broke into her reverie - she had been unconsciously copying Inara's posture, fingers and all. Everyone had seen. She looked down, and Inara just smiled.

She remembers Inara's laugh. Low and sweet, and it makes her sound genuinely amused. Her lips curve just enough to reveal her teeth; her eyes dance. Inara's eyes are a wilderness: River imagines that they can see straight into her heart. They could undo her with one glance and she would lie panting on the floor, helpless. But at the same time, those strangely animated eyes are hiding something. Sadness. She may be poised and successful now, but it wasn't always so. She must have had a hard life, to have acquired that kind of depth in her eyes. In some secret way, she is fragile. Something nags at her.

River wants to know. She longs for that intimacy. But Inara could have any man - or woman - she wants, and she doesn't kid herself that Inara might choose her.

It's just a beautiful dream. Inara is an angel, untouchable, sacrosanct. It would strain their casual acquaintance if she said anything. And of course, if anything should _happen_, everything would be torn asunder: what would Simon say. And Mal. The whole structure of the crew would suddenly be at risk. And there's Inara's job: after all, River is a fugitive. Even the pale vestiges of River's rational brain can convince her that it isn't worth it. So she bites the bullet. Keeps it to herself, breaks eye contact, blushes by day and burns at night.

* * *

She walks into the room. As usual, River wants desperately to run to her and hold her lips against the Companion's, forever and ever.

But she can't. So she blushes.


End file.
